


Letting Off Steam

by astralundies



Category: NG (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon-Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hotel Sex, M/M, Nightmares, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21667855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralundies/pseuds/astralundies
Summary: “I’ll stay in some random hotel until all this is finished.”“You could stay at my place,” Akira says before he realizes the words are coming out of his mouth.“Yeah, hard no on that one,” Amanome sneers. “That place is old, cramped, and smelly.”Why has everyone been saying his apartment is smelly? It’s fine. It smells like an apartment.“I don’t think you should be there right now either. Hell, if I were you I’d call to get the whole place bulldozed, then rebuilt from the ground up,” Amanome says, smile creeping up the side of his face. “I can do that, if you want. I know a guy.”“Where’m I supposed to sleep, then?”“With me.”
Relationships: Amanome Seiji/Kijima Akira
Comments: 9
Kudos: 127





	Letting Off Steam

**Author's Note:**

> I guess this counts as canon divergence? More like I got to the part where this takes place and thought: "if I was writing NG as a BL game, this is what I'd do," and then I wrote it.

It's only been ten days. Hasn't it? With the endless, hellish slog of Kakuya's games it feels more like ten years.

That must be why it feels almost refreshing to help Amanome threaten some loser, like a glimpse back into what, for him, was once normal.

That definitely must be why Akira feels warmth bloom in his chest when he hears a soft voice singing that song he's come to know so well these past few weeks.

It isn’t until Amanome glances over and meets Akira’s eyes that he realizes he’s been staring. Amanome stares back. The corner of his mouth quirks upward but he doesn’t stop singing. He doesn’t stop staring.

Akira gets the feeling he should say something.

“Hey, Amanome. You like that song?”

“Yeah, it’s a good song. I don’t care about Kuruse Momo at all, but I love ‘Wander Rabbits.’”

Even the way they banter on the way back to the station feels well-worn and comfortable. Amanome reaches out to nudge him playfully. His hand lingers for a moment too long before withdrawing.

He must be tired, because Akira finds himself wishing he could lean into that touch.

“Akira, how about one more bar?” Of course he’d ask that. How does Amanome have so much energy? Where has he been keeping it in that scrawny little body?

Exhaustion tugs at every fibre of Akira’s existence. He feels the dark circles under his eyes. Of course he’s not going out; he knows what ‘one more bar’ means for Amanome. But.

But.

“I’ll stay in some random hotel until all this is finished.”

“You could stay at my place,” Akira says before he realizes the words are coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah, hard no on that one,” Amanome sneers. “That place is old, cramped, and smelly.”

Why has everyone been saying his apartment is smelly? It’s fine. It smells like an apartment.

“I don’t think you should be there right now either. Hell, if I were you I’d call to get the whole place bulldozed, then rebuilt from the ground up,” Amanome says, smile creeping up the side of his face. “I can do that, if you want. I know a guy.”

“Where’m I supposed to sleep, then?”

“With me.”

Akira’s exhaustion snaps away in an instant. Suddenly his ears feel too hot, even for this muggy August night.

Amanome seems just as surprised to have said it as Akira is to hear it. He stares everywhere but at Akira’s face, like he’s looking for an escape route.

“Wh--”

"At the hotel,” Amanome interrupts, maybe a little too loudly for a night street. “We can get a room with no mirrors. Or two rooms. My treat.”

“Do they make hotel rooms without mirrors?”

Amanome sputters for a moment before his surprise melts into laughter.

“That’s what you’re worried about? I’m sure they’ll do it. If you pay enough money they’d take out the damn beds.”

Makes sense, Akira supposes.

“If you gotta get two rooms, then I might as well go home.”

“Then we’ll share one. Come on, Akira. I’d sleep better if you weren’t alone, y’know? I’ll make sure you sleep soundly, too. It’s my job to protect you, after all.”

“Since when?”

“Since always!”

* * *

Kissouji isn’t exactly a luxury district, but there are a few hotels around the station. Most are modest lodging for salarymen who missed the last train, but there are a few that Akira would consider ‘nice.’

Amanome, on the other hand, can barely disguise the disgust curling on his lip as they walk into the chrome-and-marble lobby of a ‘nice’ hotel.

“It’s barely livable, but it’ll have to do,” he mutters under his breath before the smile crawls back on his face and he approaches the front desk.

While Amanome tells a sob story about his dear friend’s mirror phobia, or whatever he came up with, Akira can’t help but feel his attention drift away. His eyes shift from the rack of day-old newspapers, to the flimsy umbrella stand, to--

\--to a flash of something red in the chrome frame around the automatic doors. When he looks at the warped reflection of the umbrella stand in the chrome, he’s sure he sees a traditional style umbrella, neatly folded and tucked in the wire umbrella rack.

It can’t be. It’s just like--

He whips his head around to confirm: the umbrella rack is empty.

But something else is missing. Where’s Amanome?

Panic bubbles up in his throat. Kakuya hasn’t even started a new game. Why is this happening? Did she decide on a new hostage, now that Ami’s back? Is she trying to raise the stakes? He can't lose--

A hand rests gently Akira’s back, between his shoulder blades.

“You alright, buddy?”

Akira can’t help but jump in his own skin, though he recognizes the voice in time to keep from throwing a punch at his best friend. Relief and fatigue seep back into his bones.

“You look like you’re about to lose it,” Amanome says.

“Yeah… yeah, it’s nothing,” Akira sighs. “I’m just tired.”

“See?” Amanome says, clicking his tongue as he turns his head back to the man at the front desk. “What’d I tell you? He’s even getting freaked out by the shiny metal fixtures. He’s like a crow.”

Despite the exasperation in his voice, Amanome doesn’t remove his hand from Akira’s back. Akira decides he doesn’t mind. It would be too much of a hassle to say anything or try and stop him.

The clerk hands them a plastic key card, then returns his attention to the magazine on the counter.

"C'mon, buddy. Fifth floor, looks like," Amanome says, gently pushing Akira toward the single elevator at the end of the hall.

Akira lets him lead the way.

* * *

Amanome is barely in the elevator before his smile drops back to the ground floor.

“Ugh. Everything here is so… beige. I can’t stand it.”

“I saw Kakuya’s umbrella.”

“What?!” Amanome’s face drains of all color. "When?"

"In the lobby."

"I didn't see anything. Are you sure?"

"No…" Akira sighs and scrubs at his eyes.

"You haven't gotten the… y'know," Amanome asks nervously, pointing at his mouth. "Right?"

"No. Nothing."

"Then you're just being paranoid. If you jump at everything, she wins without even showing up."

Akira grumbles, but it's not like he has a retort.

The rest of the elevator ride is silent.

Almost. As they approach their floor, Amanome laughs to himself.

Akira turns to him. He stares until Amanome deigns to explain.

“You should’ve seen your face back there, when I was joking around and said ‘sleep with me.’ It was so funny. I almost lost it.”

“You were joking?”

"Wh-- of course I was!" Amanome doesn't blush easily, so that dusting of on his cheeks must also be Akira's imagination. He's seeing a lot of red tonight, apparently.

* * *

The elevator door opens to a narrow hall with dingy carpeting and dying overhead fluorescent lights. The door to one of the rooms is propped open and they can hear someone inside.

Amanome looks down at the number of the keycard, then back up at the open door.

“Must be hauling out the mirrors right now. I swear, the things I do for you,” he says with one of those obnoxiously endearing smiles.

“You told them I have mirror-phobia?” Akira says, rolling his eyes. “Is that even a real thing?”

“Of course it is. And really, am I wrong? Phobias often have a serious or rational reason behind them. ”

“Like you and ghosts, right?”

“Sh-shut up. I liked it better when I could tell myself they weren’t real.”

Something catches Amanome’s attention.

There’s a clattering noise, like plastic hitting metal.

Amanome abandons the conversation completely and walks back the way they came.

“Hey?” Akira calls after him as Amanome disappears around the corner.

“Oh, my god,” comes Amanome’s hushed gasp.

Shit! Is it--

Akira sprints around the corner and discovers a truly gruesome sight: Amanome has found a drink vending machine. He stands reverently in front of one of the blue-lit cold drink displays.

"Look at this,” Amanome whispers, pointing to the profane artifact he’s found. “Beer-flavored Calpis. Doesn't that just sound vile? Aren't you just dying to try it?"

"That’s what you ran off for?!” Akira feels his voice rising, but stops and takes a breath. They don’t need to get kicked out of the hotel for noise complaints before they even get into their room. “We aren't old enough to buy that."

"It's non-alcoholic, Officer," Amanome says, glancing sideways at Akira as he presses the button on the machine. “Besides, did you forget who you’re talking to? We were at a hostess club like an hour ago.”

"Why would you mix milk and beer? That's disgusting."

"I can't wait for you to try it." Amanome triumphantly places the bottle in Akira’s hand. The liquid inside is as beige as the walls of the hotel.

"Ugh…"

* * *

By the time they return to room 503, the staff is finished their work. Amanome hands them each some kind of bill (the sum of which Akira doesn’t care to think about), and whispers something just out of Akira’s earshot. The two workers nod and quickly make their exit.

The room is tiny; probably smaller than Akira’s apartment. There are two beds, theoretically, but the space between them is so whisper-thin that they might as well have not bothered. There’s a desk built into the wall, but it doesn’t seem like there’d even be enough room to pull the rickety wooden chair out far enough to sit in.

Amanome makes a frustrated huffing noise.

“At least we know spirits couldn’t get to us in here. They wouldn’t be able to fit.”

Akira barely has his shoes off before he throws the godawful drink bottle aside and collapses on the bed. It feels amazing to not be standing upright.

“I’m gonna shower,” Amanome announces. “At least get in the bed properly before you go to sleep.”

“Mmh,” Akira eloquently replies.

He will in a minute.

The last thing he hears is the soothing sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

* * *

It’s dark.

When did he get back to his place?

The power is out. He fumbles around in the pitch black until he finds a familiar object. He turns on his flashlight; the light is a dim beige ring. The batteries must be dying.

Somewhere, a dog is barking.

His cell phone rings. The ringtone is the mournful cry of a crane. The number is Amanome’s.

Of course he answers.

“Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end, until there isn’t. Then, the sound of heavy breathing.

“Amanome?”

Amanome is singing a song, soft and a little vulnerable.

It’s Wander Rabbits, until it’s not. The lyrics are wrong.

“Offer your head to the great Kintoki,” he sings to the tune.

“Amanome?!”

The dog yelps and goes silent. The call disconnects. then the sound of something small and plastic hitting the concrete.

“Akira,” comes Amanome’s voice from outside his window, sweet as a secret.

Akira throws open the curtain. A pair of heavy elevator doors block his way to the balcony. He tries to open the doors but the key card isn’t working.

“Akira, help,” Amanome cries out as he pounds at the door from the other side.

“Amanome!” He shouts, pulling at the doors with all his might. “I’m coming! Don’t, don’t…”

Amanome screams. There’s a sick, wet thud out on the balcony.

Silence. Then:

“Akira, don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look,” comes Amanome’s voice from his phone.

“Don’t look,” Amanome pleads as Akira finally pulls the doors open.

Akira wishes he hadn’t.

Amanome’s head lies on the floor of the balcony. His body stands ramrod-straight as sweet bean paste and candy spill from the neck wound.

Akira falls to his knees. He tries to scream, but he can’t. His mouth is full of brackish water and baby turtles.

He picks up the head and holds it close to his chest. He can’t breathe. He can’t--

Amanome’s head opens its eyes. It opens its mouth and screams:

“AKIRA!”

* * *

Akira is jolted awake by a sharp slap and a stinging pain blooming on his cheek.

“Akira! Damn it, wake up!”

His eyes snap open and Amanome is there, straddled over him on the bed with his head very much still attached to his shoulders.

His dripping wet shoulders, barely covered by a soggy yukata.

“...Amanome?” Akira’s throat feels hoarse.

“Oh my god,” Amanome lets out a long, shaky sigh. He leans his forehead against Akira’s chest. His wet hair leaves a spot on Akira’s shirt. “Oh, you scared the shit out of me.”

“You scared me too. You were… you were dead.” Akira weaves his fingers into the sleeves of the yukata, like keeping a hold on him in some way will keep him from disappearing.

“What? Don’t say shit like that! I’m already freaked out!” Amanome bats at Akira’s chest, but he might as well be slapping the wall.

“What happened?”

“Why are you asking me that? You were the one screaming. I ran out here and you were huddled in a little ball, shouting your brains out.”

“Oh. Just a nightmare.”

“‘Just’?! Jeez. Is this what’s been happening to you while I’ve been gone?”

“Dunno. I don’t usually remember my dreams. Why are you so wet?”

“I was in the shower, dumbass. Remember?”

A drop of warm water rolls off Amanome’s hair and onto Akira’s neck. The smile of relief on Amanome’s face is unbearably fond.

Akira is suddenly, sharply aware of the V-shaped strip of bare chest that leads all the way down to the hastily-tied belt at Amanome’s waist. He’s very, very aware of the bare, water-slick thighs on each side of his hips.

From the look on Amanome’s face, he’s realized too. He goes to move, but Akira tightens his grip on Amanome’s arm and holds him in place.

The world freezes around them.

Akira's voice dries in his throat. What would he say, anyway? Even breathing the wrong way would break this moment.

Finally, after an eternity passes, Akira reaches up and brushes his hand against Amanome’s cheek. Amanome presses a kiss against his palm, then leans down and presses a kiss against Akira’s lips.

His lips are softer than Akira expected, but what else would they have felt like? Akira weaves his fingers into Amanome’s wet hair and kisses back.

Amanome kisses like he’s had practice. Akira kisses like he’s starving; opened mouth and desperate.

He drags Amanome down on top of him until he can feel Amanome’s pulse pounding against his chest. Amanome’s fingers curl around the hem of Akira’s shirt.

Amanome leans back, but Akira chases after him. Akira kisses Amanome's jaw, then his neck. But then, he remembers candy and sweet bean paste. He pauses.

"Buddy? Akira…?" Amanome finds his voice somewhere. When he doesn't get an answer, he pulls himself back up.

Akira stares up at Amanome. He looks alive. He looks like a mess. He looks beautiful.

"My shirt's all wet and cold," Akira says instead.

"Idiot," Amanome laughs. "How do you think I feel?"

At this point, the damp yukata is a laughable premise of clothing, bunched up around his hips and draping down to his elbows. Akira reaches up and unties the belt. Amanome shrugs the yukata off his shoulders and tosses it to the floor. Akira's heart pounds against his chest when he realizes that Amanome is fully naked and half-hard.

"Take off your dumb, wet shirt, then," Amanome says, pulling the shirt hem up over Akira's stomach. "It's creepy if you're fully clothed."

Akira pulls his hoodie and undershirt off, but shudders to a halt when he feels Amanome's palm grind against the growing bulge in his pants.

"Wow, look at that. What a pervert."

"Wh-- pervert?!" Akira sputters.

"Yeah. I can't believe you're getting off on this," Amanome says as an awful smirk inches across his face.

"Oh, shut up," Akira growls. He reaches up and wraps his hand around Amanome's length, and suddenly Amanome isn't smirking anymore. Suddenly, he's fully hard.

Their mouths are on each other again, then, as Amanome fumbles with Akira's belt and Akira fumbles with Amanome's dick.

Distractions aside, Amanome finally manages to undo Akira's pants and pulls them roughly down Akira's waist, down to his thighs. Akira kicks them the rest of the way off, then shoves them off the side of the bed to join the other soggy clothes.

Amanome leans forward, spreading his legs wider on each side of Akira's waist, pressing them closer together. He curls a hand around their cocks and pulls in long, languid strokes. He bends his back in a graceful arch and runs his free hand through his hair, slicking it back.

Of course he'd show off. Akira would expect no less.

"You look good right now," Akira says, his grip tight on Amanome’s thighs.

"Mmm, of course I do,” Amanome sighs, rolling his hips forward and sending a shock up Akira’s spine. “I always look good."

"Nevermind. If you'd kept your mouth shut it would've been better."

"Do a better job and maybe I will."

"A better job?" Akira snorts, affronted.

"Yeah. You're making me do all the work. Put in some effort.”

"That what you want?"

"Yeah. It is."

Akira can’t stand that smug smirk on Amanome’s face. He grabs the so-called Prince of Threats by the waist and flips him onto his back on the mattress, pinning him under the weight of a crushing kiss. Amanome shudders and moans into his mouth, hands thrown over Akira’s shoulders and gripping for dear life.

Akira slips a hand between them and wraps his fingers tightly around them both. He snaps his hips forward, and Amanome gasps. He does it again, rutting against Amanome at a brutal pace, pumping his hand in tandem.

Amanome isn’t as loud or theatrical or assertive as Akira thought he would be. For all his bravado, Amanome’s been reduced to a quietly whimpering mess, one hand balled into a fist around the sheets.

“Akira, Akira…” Amanome whispers like a plea when their lips finally break contact. "I…"

“S-Seiji,” Akira pants.

Suddenly Amanome's eyes snap wide open. His back arches and he goes rigid. With a high, pleading whine, he comes apart, painting their stomachs white.

Akira isn't far behind.

* * *

“Ugh. This bed’s a mess. I'm not sleeping here.”

“Good thing we got two,” mumbles Akira as he rolls on his side and closes his eyes. If he was exhausted before, now he's past his limit.

"Ugh! You aren't sleeping here either!" Amanome pushes at Akira with all his might, but it's about as effective as either of them could have expected. Akira hears frustrated footsteps, then the rustling of linens.

"Come here."

When Akira pries open an eye, Amanome has squeezed himself onto the far side of the second bed. It's a tiny mattress, but he's left enough room for two.

Fine. Akira musters the strength to get up, then walk the arduous half-meter journey to the other bed. He flops over on his side, facing Amanome, then pulls the sheets over them both.

"Goodnight," Akira announces and closes his eyes. He feels Amanome shift on the bed, then feels his forehead settle against his chest. Akira settles his arm on Amanome's waist and inches closer.

"Goodnight, Akira."

This is… nice. It's hardly enough to make him forget nightmares of spirits and dolls, but it's a nice reprieve. Maybe he'll sleep well tonight, for once.

As Akira drifts off, Amanome hums a familiar tune.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret to inform you that beer-flavored Calpis isn't real, BUT Calpis-flavored beer is. I didn't know that while writing this and I am just as floored as you all must be.


End file.
